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SAII2T= SATYR? 

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-^^A*SATIRI0#POEM 



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For the cause that needs assistance, 
For the wrongs that need resistance, 
For the future in the distance, 
For the good that men can do." 



Unknown. 




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^1 
Koader Pleaso Notice This Before Readinj^ Poem. 



of prefuce, for tietion rend roinaucc. 
For I'd something more, re:ul As, etc. 
For nsoiit, re.id I don't. 
For Thoniiii welling-, rciid Througli, etc. 
For loftier throne, read as loftier. 
For strong nature, rend stony nature. 
Omit lUtle, in seeoJid line fronv bottom. 
Second line, use (?) after great. 
'ri)ird line, its merit, for his nieiit. 
For feels no thrall, read feai's. etc. 
For maid or nation, read maid or matinn. 
For gobbled, read garbled. 
For sonding bau, rend soiinding hag. 



Send Subscriptions with Your Address to Box E, Benmngton, Mich. 



18S4. 



PREFACE, 

Dear Reader : 



In the following poem I have endeavor- 
ed to hupress upon the mind of the reader the 
utter fooUshness. tlie misplaced' confidence, as 
it were, of that spirit which has been named 
•'Toadyism'' — placing a mean stigma upon the 
poor toad, Americans, of all the people in 
the world, ought not to be "toadies". Yet are 
we not as a nation steadily drifting into the 
filthy slop bucket of downright toadyism ? 
What spirit but that sends such a flock of 
shameless snobs across the seas every season 
ai d brings them back to bore and din the ears 
of their more sensible countrymen with flip- 
pant stuff about "Yurrup, culchad Yurrip," 
rasp our sensibilities with lame French and 
crooked Iralian, and even disgust us with poor 
apings of the ''Hi's" and the "He's" and the 
'Hells" of the "Hinglish;" in short, to gen- 
erally belitttle and belabor everything Ameri- 
can as "Haboriginal," and laud to the skies 
everything foreign as 'evenly? With that great 
misrepresentative of true Americanism, and 
prince of '•Toadies," Lowell, in London 
playing the lapdog to the English court in knee 
breeches and laced roundabouts and a tin 
sword, in open deflance of the plain and sen- 
sible laws of his couacry, I blush for our repu- 



tation abroad. Yet this narional toadyism, or 
beggarism.or whatever the reader may b© pleas- 
ed to term it. is only the outgrowth of that pri- 
vate spirit of littleness, that low form of idola- 
try which runs after small individuals, and 
which is even meaner and more dangerous 
than the other. And to this spirit yield not 
only the ignorant rabble, but even clergymen 
and professors in our public institutions of 
learning lend themselves not only to howl like 
mad-men over these little goddies, but to write 
sounding articles for the press in their praise. 
Did they always wait for real merit in their ob- 
jects of silly adoration, the case would at least 
have a better look, but the vilest blackguard 
is more apt to be their "Dagon" than the most 
saintly and gifted, as these seldom pose as 
idols. 

Choosing this for my theme, I have cited the 
cases of two idols, one idolized for real merit 
and one idolized without merit. The first, as 
will be seen, I have drawn from real life, and 
while this case admits of much doubt as to the 
fact of "truilty" or '"not guilty, gentlemen," 
there is enough probability of guilt as ought 
to teach us to withhold onr adoration from all 
men. and that it is weakness and folly to can- 
onize saints before they are dead. 

As to the other character, SirFitz-Gnu,Ihave 
drawn him as I know characters do exist, in 
many insttances drawing for his acts from the 
same repositories of information that men usu- 
£.lly draw from, viz., observation, hi^tory, lit- 
erature, every day life and gossip, in short 



everywhere I could find a piece fit for my build- 
ing I have taken it, and leave to the reader 
the blessed privilege of having and enjoying 
his own opinion as to whetlier there be such an 
individual character or not. 

Should any reader know any one from whose 
character he is led to suspect that he is the in- 
dividual designated as Sir Fitz-Guu. in the 
name of decent morality, give or at least loan 
him a copy of this poem, and if he destroys it, 
get arotherand real it to him. Enough copies 
shall be at hand, if we have to go into a sec- 
ond edition. 

To any person or persons who may claim 
for themselves to be aimed at or infringed upon 
by this character, I can only say "if the coat 
fits put it on and wear it." as it v;ill probably 
become you, and no rental will be charged for 
so fine a garment. As to Sir Fitz-Gnu being a 
knight, 1 feel that I have made no attack upon 
the noble order so brought into use. Poetry 
depends much upon antiquity for many of its 
charms. Thus the Indian with bis bow and his 
spear, his moccasins and his eagle featVier, is 
the true iLdian of fiction, and not he of the U. 
S. blanket and musket, cow hide boots and 
cast ofl army cap of to day. Thus I vieemed a 
knight with a sword, &c., necessary in my 
poem, and^where conic I so easily pick up a 
knight "booted and spurred," answering to 
my modernized purpose as at the market I have 
drawn upon. True, I took a "vain carpet 
knight," but it was such a one I sought, and I 
think lean truthfully say the order is not over- 



stocked with such material and cannot suffer 
from the theft I have made of 

"A vain carpet knight 

Who ill deserves their courteous care," 

"An enemy in the camp." 

My word for it. reader, once such an one be 
known to the knightly order, the services of 
the ''Chief Cook" will speedily be called into 
requisition to hack off those spurs which the 
kiuij; has buckled upon him. Let each encamp- 
ment of good Sir Knights look well to its 
forces if perad venture they harbor not the 
very knight whose stuffed greaves and hel- 
met and reversed shield are so ignominiously 
gibbelted here 

Hoping my effort may not be an entirely fu- 
tile one. and that all who do me the honor to 
peruse these lines may feel that they have re- 
ceived the worth of their investment, I have 
the honor to subscribe myself, 



Yours humbly. 



THE AUTHOR. 



SAINT OR SATYR? 

A SATIRIC POEM 

BY COMET. 
"A man may smile and smile 
And be a villain." 

— Shakespeare. 

My boy, the time has couie at la^t, 

When all your boyish weakness past, 

You must, spite of the wind's fierce strife, 

Launch out upon the sea of life ; 

That is to say, you must herea-'ter. 

Sometimes witli tears, sometimes with laughter, 

Cast your own net for your own fi^^h, 

And fill or eujpty your own dish. 

'Tis customary to look wise, 

On such occasions, and advise 

Young men Just .'tarting out like you 

What we ne'er did but they should do; 

But that's all stuff, njoocshine and bother; 

I heard the same from my good father, 

And he from his. and so on back 

To where old Adam flew the track. 

No! spite of all that can be said. 

Young shoulders vvill not bear old heads; 

Life after all is but a Fchool 

Where every "Frtshman" is a fool; 

And not the sharpest will be wise 

Till Old Experience opes his eyes 

With many a thorough application 

Of hazel oil and clipped vacation; 

And even then you'll find it true 

That half the "Soph'mores" "pony" through. 



6 SAINT OR SATYR, 

Yet one i^hovt Jpsson I can teach 

Of usefulness within your reach; 

Look at thiy scraw! beneath i^y pen; 

It say?, njy boy, don't WORSHIP MEN ? 

Worship a vvoujan, if yo i will, 

'Tis best you should, but do nor kill 

Your honest self-respf ct, my son, 

By ruiinin-j: after any one 

Who wears a tinseled coat and buttons; 

They're almost always knaves or gluttons. 

Give praise where praise is justly due, 

But be not of the vulgar crew 

Who run and bawl, litje dumb brute cattle, 

Where'er they hear the boist'rous rattle 

Of gun and fife and kettle drum. 

In prsise of some illustrious "Bum," 

And throw their caps, and loud applaud, 

As if the creature were their god. 

Egad ! the chap they run so after 

Repays them with his secret laughter. 

While all that loud applause is given 

And fools extol him nigh to heaven, 

He knows himself, he's but a man, 

A mere cog in the general plan ; 

And that same evening at his tea. 

Says to his wife "they look at me 

1 d something moie than niortal man, 

Ason't see, really, how they can; 

But men are just like silly sheep, 

One blind one falls, the rest all leap 

To follow him, though each one knock 

His silly brains out on the rock." 

Well, now, my boy, that you may see 

How little these great men can be. 

What ' 'little wads" these '* big guns" shoot, 



A SATIRIC POEM. 

How far from gods, how near to brutes 

They most times are with all their glory,— 

List while I tell you the life story 

Of two such men, whom late I've known. 

Who as "great lights" have duly shone. 

One lives in Brooklyn, that great city, 

A preacher too, the more's the pity. 

His sermons all the world has read.' 

For they are jewels, be it said, 

Great thoughts in heavenly garb advanced 

Held every audience entranced. 

Until his flock did so adore him 

They let him do their thinking for them. 

The men poured out their stores of gold ' 

Hiss^vleand influence to uphold; 

The women, tender things and sweet, 

Worked satin slippers for his feet 

In numbers to supply his needs 

E'en had he bee£j twin centioedes; 

And one soft thing of douDtful years 

Said, while she smiled though welling tears. 

'•Dear Mr. B.; so good ; so pure; 

The angels are not better sure, 

In fact I cannot understand 

How God can be a better man." 

Thus servile can some natures bend. 

To such vile depths some minds descend, 

Forgetting God to worship men. 

So went he on from high to higher; 

Of fame it seemed he ought to tire; 

And twenty thousand dollars scarce 

Paid for his sermons and his prayers. 

Seldom hath human genius won 

A brighter crown and loftier throne; 

He stood, the glory of the west. 



8 SAINT OK SAIYR, 

The umpire of ihe linmaQ breast. 

Nor prince, nor peasant passed that way 

But stopped to hear him preach and pray, 

And ever after boasted on't 

As if he'd seen the very font 

Of human greatness. Well, one day, 

Alter iiis hair tiad grown quite gray. 

And all the world got to inferring 

He had no tendencies toward erring. 

Oh fatal day! Oh day accursed ! 

The gilded, gorgeous bubble burst ; 

VVhfcit was the mavter ? Strange to tell 

'Twas by a woman'^ hand he feil; 

What all tiad deemed so good and grand 

Was. after all, a poor WA^ak man, 

Up to the same poor natural tricks 

As wilder lads we nicknaiiie "bricks," 

Oh, what a fall! Last night so great, 

A very spiritual potentate! 

This morn his glories clipped and wilting, 

Crushed in the arms of Mrs. Tilton ! 

Though some esteem him as a martyr 

Most deem him as a gifted satyr. 

And yet, my boy, his heart is better 

Than half those men's who raise a clatter 

And cry out "shame" f.nd "put him down!" 

As if no sin they'd ever known. 

One half the virtue bragged about 

Is only wantonness tired out; 

Save it be woman's virtue, boy; 

That is indeed without alloy. 

I blame him not ! he fell, 'tis true, 

As, tempted less, his foes might do; 

I only cire the case to show 

The weakness of the best below; 



A SATIRIC POEM. 

And teach you, Henry, if I can. 

You cannot make a god of man,' 

The tree may look most fair indeed 

And seem the very thing you need ' 

But when its grain you well inspect 

iou re sure to tind some bad defect 

JNo tree so sound in every part 

But some vile worm hatli reached its heart 

Another tale I'll here relate 

Ot one not near so good or great. 
A merely ordinary ass 

Of whose ten talents eight were brass; 
let who rose from a low deo-ree 

To V. E. K. T., ^ 

But not by merit. Would to God 
He had some good points to appUud' 
Appollo! in my heart inspire 
A Hero's force, a Poet's fire ! 
Mine be the heaven appointed task 
One specious villain to unmask- 
The tinseled robes, in which he'lon^ 
Hath hid vile deeds o* blackest wroL 
lo tear away, that all, forsooth 
May see him in the light of truth. 
Here I present to moral view 

CiJ^\-^'''°^^ ^* Ingrates. Sir Fitz-Gnuf 

With unctuous flattery to rub him 

';Our Gnu'' some fools are wont to dub him- 

lor know the furies, in their wrath, 

bent him a menial named McCalf 

Who in a manner very calfy 

Keeps Sir Fitz-Gnu supplied with ^taffv " 

M^l.' ^'7k ^."l^ll ^'^^^ «^''"a.ues him Dften- 
My boy, that "Mackerel" is a soft 'n i 
He deems Gnu great and really thinks 



10 SAINT OK SAT YE, 

The world shakes every time he winks. 

But theu he earos his boots and breeches 

Composini^ Sir Fitz-Gna's great speeches," 

And e'en hyenas may be led 

Of the same hand by which they're fed. 

Still, how a man who claims to teach 

The only route to Heaven, can reach 

So low a spirirual tide, my ^on. 

As after such a *'Baal" to run, 

Seems rather odd. to say the least, 

But, son, the "luark of the great beast" 

Gets stamped sometimes on preachers' faces 

As well as men's wIjo say less graces 

That mark of fear, I've oftei-i thought. 

Which seems so many souls to have bought- 

1 own the fancy may be queer, — 

Must be like this ($) I've written here. 

Mow is it ''our Gnu", now silvering gray. 
Hath hid thus far his deeds away 
Nor met the just reward he should, 
A felon's chains and solitude ? 

The vulture hides himself from si.^ht 

By plunging in excess of light; 

So '-our own Gnu," hath always done, 

Hath been a black spot on the sun 

Which to the ordinary gaze 

Is hidden in the general blaze. 

His inner self all hidden lies 

Behind a good Sir Knight's disguise; 

As wolves oft 'scape the shepherd's crook 

By skulking close among the flock. 

Oft hath it been my lot to prove 
The "mystic order's" works of love! 



A SATIRIC POEM. 11 

And though it is not mine to kneel 
Beneath the ' 'my-stic arch of steel" 
My heart gives greeting of delight 
To every good and true sir knight. 
Wishes the order 'heaver, speed " 
With winds appointed to her needs, 
But hopes she soon may ''come about" 
And cast this "wicked Jona.i" out. 

Of all tlje ebon list of crimes 
Which men are guilty of at times, 
Though all be horrid and accursed, 
I hold ingratitude the worst. 
In early life *'our Gnu" was lelt 
Of home and its sweet ties bereft; 1 

Friendless and helpless left to roam, 
A pitying stranger took him home. 
And with true godliness beyond 
What in most human breasts is found 
Made him co-equal at the hearth 
With those who he-Id their rights by birth, 
E'en his inheritance the same 
When to maturity he came 
Oh, one would think a heart of stone 
Such debt of gratitude should own ; 
The genial influence should be felt 
And cill its strong nature melt, 
Yet see how this o'erwhelming debt 
Of comm,on gi'atitude was met! 
Years pass- a foster i^rot her dies. 
Swift to the widow Fitz Gnu flies, 
Bemoans their mutaal loss sa sad 
And proffers, free, his legal aid 
To ^et all worldly matters straight 
And give the widow her estate. 



12 SAINT OK SATYK, 

"Oh sister mine " Sir Fitz Gnu -ries,— 

The big tears rolling from his '^yes, 

Sucii tears as crocodiles are said, 

In some old fable, to have shed, — 

"Doubly a brother Spencer was, 

By adoption and by honor's laws; 

Claim all my service as your right; 

Your husband was a good Sir Knight!" 

Oh that I could, in truth, set down 

One noble action here to crown 

With something fair the blackened SRroll 

The Muses force me to unroll: 

This record of a human life 

With every evil passion rife; 

'TwOuld lighten sure my bitter task, 

For then souie mercy I might ask 

Of those who read, by pointing them 

To meaner and more heartless men. 

Alas! my knowledge fails to touch 

One whom I can point out as such; 

As Pharaoh's kine excelled in leanness, 

So is Gnu's excellence in meanness; 

Tiae truth compels me to relate 

He stole the widow's whole estate; 

Thus proving recreant to both 

Kind nature's laws and knighthood's oath; 

But knightly honor is with him, 

Living or dead, as suits liis whim! 

Oh, Sir Knight B., thou well diiist prove 

His knightly honor and his love! 

Thy bleeding nose and battered eye 

To what I Speak will testify. 

Thus far, my boy, I've rattled on. 
And shown you meanness piled upon 



A SATIRIC POEM. 13 

The meane^^t meanness. Yet this man 

Stands at the head of all his clan; 

A noble clan, too; for, my boy, 

T point you with both pride and joy 

To this, the noblest of all orders 

Though this false hound be in its borders. 

No order on this side the grave 

But holds unknown soujp arrant kixave; 

Men only see the outward part. 

'Tis God alone can see tbe heart. 

Jiy one of fortune's curious freaks, 

Some i'l got gold and tons of "cheek,'' — 

For know the gift of "cheek" is his; — 

A half starved army mule has less, — 

With much well tiujed prevarication 

Gnu gained his present high toned station; 

By which he roams from east to west, 

From north to south, well fed and dressed, 

On public funds, rides, dines and vvir.es. 

And keeps a score of concubines. 

"Some letters" that he wrote to one 

Quite well to half the world are known 

As "telltales" of the bestial play 

In which he whiles his hours awjiy 

When out from home: You'll see he's shown 

His '"Symbolistic tastes" in some, 

That "high respect for masonry" 

Which makes him "plant each shrub and tree 

In mystic order" all so pat, 

"Crosees, triangleb" and all that. 

His Lizzie's breasts, so soft and white, 

He calls "his boys," his "heart's delight" 

With other symbols low and quef^r. 

Not decent to be mentioned here. 



14 SAINT OR SATYR, 

He signed no name to them, 'tis true; — 

Yoa'd just as well have signed them, Gnu. 

As "circumstances alter cases," 

So, sometimt^s, also, dates and peaces 

Fix their Cf>ld grip upon a thing 

Too fast for doubt or cavilling. 

Thus when "our Gnu" writes his"soiled Dove' 

Soft messages of lust and love, 

Naming hiy hotel and the date. 

And, furthertnore, goes on to state 

Where he will be on certain days, 

Whet speeches make, what moneys raise, 

With assignations plainly shown. 

Where "WE CAN BE ALL NIGHT ALONE" 

And puDlic journals set him down 

On such a day in such a town, 

]\lade such a speech, on such a mission. 

And give his name and high position, 

Whcit needs his name to that same letter 

Beyond all doubt to flix the matter? 

Look through these letters! Can you find 

One tracing of the "giant mind" 

His little, halting, reverend squire, 

His "Sancho" whom he pays to admire 

His acts, and hunt up fools to ^hout 

Their "Vive le Rois" when he goes out 

To take the air, or "take a drink" 

And at his wickednes-^ to wink, 

And write big "souvenirs" for the press. 

In which two thirds of all he says 

That sounds at all like inspiration 

Is stolen from the Declaration 

Of Independence, or some speech 

That's chanced to come within his reach 

Of Webster, Burke, or Henry Clay 



A SATIRIC POEM. 15 

He's le>arned to speak in school some day, 

Has given hiia credit for? Read this 

Soft tart of nasty gashiness: 

• Dear little witie ! It is true 

I never have QUITE married you. 

But that's no matter, darling, pet. 

We maj be married sometime yet. 

Your darling, welcome, dear, sweet letter 

Of yesterday made me feel Dettei ; 

But this one that you've sent to-day! 

I don't know, dear pet, what to say : 

I feel so curious and sad; 

in fact 1 feel almighty bad ; 

Now comes a regular damper, dear ; 

You say you cannot meet me here. 

Your "naughtv boy's" head's in a whirl — 

He wants to meet his ''little girl." 

If I could only see you now 

I could relieve my mind somehcw; 

1 want to say so much to-day; 

I've got so much, my dear, to say. 

As eye meets eye and mind with mind 

Is sympathizingly inclined. 

Soul kisses soul in sweet embrace; 

Be at the next appointed place. 

Everything there will be ail right, 

And we can be alone all night. 

God bless my Lizzie! recollect 

I love you pet! now don't neglect 

Our next appointment. Kiss byeby! — 

How bad I'm feeling! Oh my eye! 

How insecure all earthly joysl 

I wan't to see "my lit:tle boys!'' 

Yes, darling, and my "little girlie" too. 

Again, kiss, hug, good, bye! adieu!" 



16 SAINT OR SAT YE, 

There 1 in that effort, boy, you see 
This (?) great man's real abiiiry. 
His merit gives, I th-nk, just claiiu 
To write down Plagiarist to iiis name. 

Cursed be the man, however high 

His soeial rank, who will deny 

The lineage tliroiigh which he came. 

And brand his native land with shame! 

Trust no such man! a traitor knave, 

A wretch, an ingrate, and a slave; 

His loyalty to any cause 

Or any land or any laws, 

Is but assumed: The slightest reason 

With him will ue excuse for treason. 

The ties of friendship, home, or love, 

His soul owns nor: his pulses move 

To the dull sluggish chant of self ;- 

His gods are passion, pride and pelf; 

fti nothmg noble, true, or bold; 

He'd sell his mother's soui for gold ! 

Oh, land of mighty heroes past, 

Whose lofty fame shall ever last! 

Land of the Poet, Martyr, Sage, 

Whose words shall ring through every age! 

Oh, Isle that gave a Fingal birth, 

And with an Emmet graced the earth, 

Although at present overcast 

With shadows far too black to last 

Green Erin, jewel of the sea. 

What heart but looks with pride to thee! 

Oh Sir Fitz Gnu. thou did'st full well 

Thy name to change, thy birthright sell . 

Erin content resigns the claim. 

Blood gave her to thee as a shame. 



A SATIRIC POEM. 17 

My boy, my hair is getting white, 

I've toiled by day and thought by night. 

My palms are hardened with the scars 

Of steady labor's hard fought wars. 

Yet Utile have 1 laid away 

To serve me 'gainst a ''rainy day." 

The few slim comforts I enjoy 

Are very slim indeed, my boy; 

I sit in humbleness and dust 

And, toothless, gum cold penary's crust, 

And when ''times get a little close" 

"Down to the grindstone" comes my nose. 

But though I've tastes above my station, 

And sometimes sigh for recreation, 

For watch, turnout, new clothes, silk hat 

Books, desks, cigars and all of that, 

Still with a conscience soft and clear 

I rock aloBg from year to year, 

Thankful if out of what I have 

I now and then can sixpence save, 

And fun and comfort find in living 

Forgetting much and more forgiving, 

Making my eyes much misery save 

By magnifying that I have. 

These old, patched clothes are worn, but warm^ 

Antiquity lends them a charm; 

In this clay pipe, that cost a cent. 

I find both comfort and content; 

I smoke, and dream my old stumps gripe 

An amber-stemmed, real meerschaum pipe. 

Plated with gold upon the top. 

Engraved — "Presented" — there I stopl 

My pipe is out, my vision flown , 

I'm sitting there absorbed and lone, 



18 SAINT OR SATYR, 

And to the hearth I turn about 
And softly knock the ashes out. 

Sir Fitz-Gnu's hands a- e soft and white, 

His fingers gleam with jewels bright, 

Fine raiment every day he wears. 

And sumptuous as a nabob fares. 

Fine diamonds glitter on his breast, 5 

His feet on spl«^ndid carpets rest; 

From walls all tapestried with art 

That cost a fortune at the start, 

Full many a picture gazes down 

By which great masters gained renown. 

Yet he's not happy ! in his lace 

Lines of unhappiues-* I trace. 

His slumbers bring him dreams of fright, 

While mine bring visions soft and light. 

My boy, this lesson take to heart: 

I'm happy ! Why ? I got my start 

By plain, square, honest, upright dealing. 

While Grnu, my boy, got his by stealing, 

'Tis true he did not raid a bank, 

Or stop a train like reckless Frank 

And Jessie James ; he did not dare. 

Sheer cowardice made him forbear 

Such deeds as that. I'll tell you, though. 

What kind of robbing he did do : 

He worked in as administrator 

To good estates and stole the greater. 

Aye far the greater part, my son, 

Of all he got his hands upon. 

With peering, ferret eyes he glides 

Through the still rooms where grief abides; 

With smiles, intended to be winning. 



A SATIKIC POEM. 19 

Gnu always smiles when he is sinning, 

From which we must the inference take 

He's always smiling when awake. 

Naught there is sacred from his greed — 

He'd take the last poor loaf of bread. 

The time scratched, thin-worn band of gold 

That doth such sacred memories hold , — 

The wedding ring that mother wore 

When at the altar rail she swore 

The whispered oath that placed her heart 

In bonds which only death might part, — 

Drop^ in his fob. That dear old book 

That somehow almost seems to look 

As father dii, so oft his hand 

Hath placed it there upon the stand, 

With rererent touch its leaves turned o'er, 

And taught us from its sacred lore, 

He takes with sacrilegious grasp, 

And muraiurs "Solid silver clasps"! 

Thus, like a human moth he roams 

From cellar to the highest rooms, 

Till absolutely nothing's left. 

And then with perjury hides the theft. 

In works like this he feels no thrall! 

He even stole a whole stone wall 

In open day from a poor maid 

He'd sworn as guardian to aid, 

With all the rest of her estate, 

Leaving her stripped and desolate. 

The very earliest of bis dealings 

Was one enormous job of stealings 1 

His county, deeming him a man 

Worthy the trust, gave to his hand 

The keeping of its public treasure ; 

And here Gnu gained the first full measure 



20 SAINT OR SATYR, 

Of his now wide extended borders, 
By duplicating county orders. 

My boy, I'll stop! Should I thus run 

His misdeeds over one by one, 

I fear I never should get done. 

I might go on to show you what 

Domestic breaches he has wrought; 

How he has stolen away the hearts 

Of weak-brained wives with his low arts, 

And after leading them astray, 

Get them divorces for their pay; 

How the false hypocrite has stood 

And prayed before the multitude. 

For 'mong his offices, not least. 

My boy, is that of ''grand high priest." 

Yes. son, just such a priest as those 

Who made our Savior all his foes; 

Such priests as form the lower tier 

Of hell's black pavement too, I fear. 

With high drawn sword he makes pretence 

Of "shielding maiden innocence." 

Mere wind! That blade so fiercely drawn 

Would diop at once should danger dawn. 

I recollect full well, my boy. 

When trait'rous hands sought to destroy 

Our common country and the drum 

Shouted "to arms! quick heroes! come!" 

And from each valley, plain and hill 

Rang the sharp answer "yes! we will!" 

And wives were buckling good broadswords 

With hasty hands upon their lords, 

And whispering with buted breath 

"Come back with victory or death!" 

And to the impatient come, come, come. 



A SATIRIC POEM. 21 

Of the shrill trump and deep voiced drum, 
Like some vast tidal wave that sweeps 
In all the fury of the deeps 
Across the wild and rocky shore 
That ne'er knew ocean's power before, 
These heroes rushed with ardor high, 
To danger, death and victory, — 
This boasting, dastard carpet knight 
Stood trembllcg and refused to fight. 
And he who, recreant, will neglect 
His country's call, will not protect 
Or maid or nation in her need 
If aught of danger's in the deed. 
Put up Sir Gnu, put up thy sword — 
We know the metal of its lord ; 
Let but a lap-dog bark behind 
Thy Bravery's heels and it will find 
Both wings and speed t'outstrip the wind. 
Oh what a wretched hack art thou 
To wave thy sword as chou dost now. 
And roar and rant and talk so brave 
Now we have peace, thou coward slave! 
When fighting was, yoa made pretensions 
Of "SERVING god" by getting pensions 
For soldiers' widows; there, you said, 
The country most required your aid. 
And many a widow mourns to-day 
The money that was thrown away 
In fees and charges paid thee. Gnu, 
Which left her something in your due 
After you'd gobbled up the whole 
Sum due her on the pension roll! 
Thou sonding bag of windy breath, 
Put up thy sword into its sheath! 



22 SAINT OR SATYR, 

Its blushes, could it know thee well, 
Would light thy downward path feo hell. 

Now hear his speeches! slobbering o'er 

With pompous boasts and mystic lore. 

His "the high call with generous deed 

To succor widows in their nee"d 

The innocence of maids protect. 

And shield the orphan from neglect." 

Uow does he till such sacred trust? — 

He tramps the widow's claim in dust! 

False balance sheets page after page. 

Give hiiii the orphan's heritage. 

He wins the maiden's simple trust 

To feed his burning, filthy lust! 

Ah ! his protectorate and love 

Are worse then falcons give the doye, 

The symbols of thy mystic lore, 

Filled as they are to running o'er 

AVith truthful teachiBgs, Gnu, should be 

Full of stern warnings unto thee; 

The "SKUiiL AND CROSSBONES," — can it be 

Thou knowest not what they say to thee; 

"Memento mori"! Tremble, Gnu! 

Nature's great debt will soon be due! 

That sword presented at the heart 

Should make thee from thy slumbers start, 

And force the moisture to thy skin 

In beads of blood ! Oh, man of sin, 

Oh, wretched man, hast thou forgot 

The '-ALLSEEING EYE" that sleepeth not 

Sees erery act, notes every thought? 

Oh, sure thy gains are dearly bought! 

Thy worldly honors and possessions, 

Seized as they are, by high transgressions, 



A SATIRIC POEM. 23 

Will work thee only shame and woe 
In that great day when thou must go. 
The same as ordinary mortals. 
The way that leads through death's black portals 
With naked heart and empty hand 
Before the judge of all to stand - 
On thiit same naked heart each deed 
So plainly writ that all may read. 
Oh, not in vain, have widows knelt; 
The orphan's sufferings God hath felt; 
The ruined wjaideu's cry of fear, 
Shame and de.-'pair^^hath reached his ear; 
His BALANCE SHEETS are all correct — 
No item there will he neglect. 
Time rapid flies! Oh think, Sir Gnu, 
How will thou meet the account there due? 

My son, I think 'tis in your mind 

To say "Who worship men are blind." 

*'Yes?" Well, 'tis very true they are! 

Blinder than blind Bartimeus far. 

Yet oft, like him, they hear the word 

By which their seeing is restored; 

And then they learn with shamed surprise 

Their SAINTS ARE satyrs in disguise. 

My boy, I'm done, I say again, 

I will not longer vex my brain 

To cite the deeds of such a knave, 

A pigmy, tyrant and a slave. 

See what I've done! Great shade of Nero! 

I've writ a tale WITHOUT A HERO; 

I'm just another Quixote! Why? 

He charged a windmill! So hare I. 

THB END. 



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